Southport Magazine

It’s 1968 in Southport, NC.  The high school is still a few months away from the fire that would consume it and change the local world forever. Southport is still a little sleepy fishing village where the Cape Fear River meets the Atlantic Ocean. Now there’s a view that never gets old…the Atlantic Ocean lying just south of Jaybird Shoals, nestled between Bald Head Island and Fort Caswell. Its maritime history is full of adventurous tales.  In 1968 Southport, there are still a few tales left to fate, and they too will someday be told and re-told again.  

On this day the only stop light in town is slowly blinking red then green and then back to red again.  There’s no traffic to speak of, but that’s not unusual for these simpler times in the 1960s.  As your eyes draw down from the changing stop light, they are cast upon a furry white and brown animal that has taken refuge under the light.  A dog can be seen lazily resting, or rather flat- out snoozing, under the town’s only stop light. In the middle of that intersection is a town dog aptly named Potlicker for his lightening ability to lick the old pot clean.

Sleeping under the stop light had become Potlicker’s favorite place to catch up on some well needed sleep.  A place where he slept soundly without a care in the world…well, except for one.  

Potlicker’s only fear in life was a little red Rambler station wagon driven by a little lady named Mrs. Irmine Dosher. Mrs. Irmine had earned a reputation of being a little heavy footed and sometimes might blow right through that little ol’ stop light. Kids knew to clear the road if they saw that little red blur approaching.   Potlicker’s trepidation was understandable. In a dog’s life, for this dog named Potlicker, in 1968 Southport, sleep was still easy to come by, even in the middle of that street, under that light and with the red blur still in his mind…Potlicker slept.

Potlicker’s thoughts and dreams, if I can be so bold as to speak for the old boy now, went something like this…“I  think I’ll get up from this nap and mosey on over to Ed Oliver’s back door. My timing should be right to catch Foxy Howard there to receive a juicy hamburger tossed out the back door. After resting amongst the stacks of empty pop bottles, awaiting their return for deposit, I’ll make my way through Franklin Square Park, past the old pitcher pump and on over to Southport high school. At the school there will be no limit to the love and affection I’ll receive. Maizey and Mammy are always good for a square of cornbread. Getting my head scratched and patted by all the school kids, the teachers and even the staff, can tire any dog out. In this dog’s life there is never too many treats…or too many NAPS.”

After school, Potlicker might be seen following a gang of kids down to Taylor Field for some pick-up baseball or maybe he’ll just follow the Boy Scouts on a hike out to Robins Nest. Like us kids, Potlicker knew no boundaries.  The whole town was his playground. He once followed a group of visitors over to Bald Head Island. When he was later asked where he had been, Potlicker replied, “all he wanted was a little vacation.” He was always a welcome sight on the docks and on the river where he kept an eye out for edible morsels.   

At any rate, Potlicker would tell you, “you can still count on many things in 1968 Southport, NC.”  Teenagers in cars still circled the Cedar Bench and made the loop back out to the Saw Dust Trail where the loop started all over again. Crowds still gathered outside of the AMUZU theater as if watching a parade every weekend. Fresh seafood was still being caught by the boats on the river and in the old yacht basin. Court was still being held in the old courthouse and kids from Southport High School were still being called on to draw names out of hats for jury duty.  The State Port Pilot was then, and still is, our hometown newspaper, keeping residents informed of local news and societal events while they read their own “Time and Tide.”

The Wilmington Star News was still being delivered door to door by  generations of Southport boys who had inherited the paper routes from their older counterparts. This writer’s route had been handed down to him by Rodney Melton who in turn had received the route from Gregory Brand. Following that tradition, I in turn passed that legacy on down the local line to Robbie Jones. The evening edition of The Star News ended just a few years later as emphasis was placed on the morning edition.

From Potlicker’s view under the stop light, Waccamaw Bank and Trust still sits on the corner. Kirby’s Prescription Center has replaced the old Pure Gas Station on the opposite corner. Inside the corner barber shop Roland is still cutting hair and while you’re waiting for an empty chair, feel free to read Field And Stream magazine for the latest trends in camouflage. The barber shop was the type of place where any boy, or even any dog, could just listen and enjoy the banter and chatter of all the men. A boy could learn something there…lessons in manhood.  

In a green, two-story building on the opposite corner a young couple are the proprietors of a little music store called “The Record Buff” a place where Potlicker was always welcome to stretch out and listen to some popular tunes.  

Metal movie film canisters can be found sitting on the sidewalk in front of the AMUZU theatre. Projectionists William Walker and Rodney Melton will soon be tenderly threading the canisters contents into an old projector for that weekend’s new movie— “Now Playing: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.”   

Potlicker, like many of us, hung out at the Amuzu too. And, on many week-ends, your visit to the Amuzu theater was greeted with a hearty and warm “Hello. How’s your Mother? Do you think it will snow?”  The young man speaking the words has a little red flush to his cheeks and a warm smile. He makes excellent eye contact. His black hair is slicked straight back and glistens from the overuse of hair tonic. He’s wearing a white collared shirt and a red sweater over a dark pair of tailored dress pants. A fine pair of freshly shined dress shoes are the final touch. One can’t help but notice his bright white socks peeking out between his dress shoes and those fine dress pants. You can’t help yourself, as you give Charles Phillip Aldridge a warm and enthusiastic “Hello, Phil!”  

In 1968 the Southport High School Dolphins were mighty in basketball. Community plays and events were acted out on the high school’s stage. We drank from the fountain in Franklin Square Park. The smell of a crab plant or a fish factory was normal, and we loved it. The Southport we grew up in was not all that different from the Southport that our parents and grandparents knew in their own childhood.

But, Potlicker? Potlicker enjoyed it all with us.  And, to this day the question still remains — Who owned Potlicker? Was it Dickie Aldridge? Was it Foxy Howard?  Or, was Potlicker really the town dog who had endeared himself to so many. After all, he had enjoyed the fame with its rank, perks and privileges. Town folk still tell Potlicker stories to this day.

I don’t know about you, but if you had seen this old dog, with that mug only a mother could love, well, you would have loved him too. Potlicker had a whole town, and we, all of us, we had Potlicker. That’s where we were in the warm days of summer in 1968 Southport.  

All those years of WONDER were right there in Potlicker’s dream. Potlicker was dreaming…

Michael Royal